We just got back from an overall amazing vacation at Hedonism II in Negril, Jamaica. This was a vacation of many firsts: our first time in Jamaica, our first time at a nude resort, and an incredible cagegasm that I’ll get to later.

You can read reviews anywhere that will tell you how attentive the staff is, how tasty the food is, or what the facilities are like in general. I’m here to give my take on experiencing all that while caged (and, for one wild night, leashed). To that last part: if there is a fetish night wherever you might vacation, I highly recommend being led around for the evening on a leash—sometimes passed off to other women while your lady steps away to the restroom, but never free to move on your own. The loss of agency was… exquisite.

Overall, the entire Hedo experience was liberating!

We’ve been naked in front of others before, but I wasn’t caged then. At Splash Mocha, I was caged and naked at a small gathering for an hour. Neither compared to a week of walking around with nothing on but my steel cage glinting in the sun. The first morning, when I made a tentative foray to the water bottle filling station a few doors down, I felt like the cops were going to swing out of the rafters and bust me. No one was around, and I was able to practice looking casual on the way back to the room. Nuts out front, head held high, and hoping like hell this week wasn’t going to be a mistake.

After breakfast, we went to a cold plunge pool, and I made my official debut, but the cheering crowds in my head remained silent, for we were alone this time too. My trunks hit the ground, and the warm breeze caressed my balls while the sun beat down on the cage. I was getting nervous, but the cool water soothed me, and we enjoyed some time to ourselves. Everything about this was all so new, we honestly wanted to take the time to enjoy every little experience. Finally, however, it was time to get serious about being naked in front of random strangers.

Drying off, I draped a towel over my shoulder and took a deep breath. With Bubba in one hand and MrsBr_Saiph in the other, I was ready for the fun to begin! That first time walking up to the beach bar with so many eyes on my cage was as exhilarating as the last. It never got old. Whether it was a foam party with a hundred eyes, or a casual refill moment, it would play out the same.

Those looking in my direction would allow their eyes to linger, and perhaps nudge the person beside them. Never did anyone point. Those further away might openly stare, while others would glance and look away. All noticed, at one time or another, of this, I’m sure. I wasn’t for the first two days; I was perhaps blissfully unsure. But by day three, I could not deny that most had seen me, and most knew me with or without clothing.

The moment when, while walking to the beach bar, the women burst out into a short laugh was the tell. The woman in all black (I won’t call her a lady) seemed to be some sort of staff person. As I approached, she gave me a monumental look, just dripping with attitude—the kind of look women who think they are ‘better than’ are so good at. So, I met her head-on with a loud ‘Hi!’ and stared right back at her. She gave a muted hello as I passed by her and went around the gazebo pillar she was leaning on. A female guest was sitting there, and she made eye contact with the woman in black. They let out a short burst of uncontrolled laughter, and then nipped it off. It could not have been more high school if you tried. The lady bartender let out a smile, but she at least kept her shit under control.

I had a choice. Drama, or vacation. Potentially get the women in trouble (because they likely would if I complained), or judge all three women as losers and allow them their judgment of me. I took the high road, ordered a beer, and went on with my day. Thank God MrsBr_Saiph was with me! She told me later she was ready to go to battle right beside me, but in the end, we were happy with keeping it chill. In the lifestyle, small minds surround us, and we can but pity those feeble minds that will never feel the thrills we do.

Throughout the week, people who had chatted with us before seeing the cage no longer seemed interested in talking afterward. Nothing overt—just ‘different’. That was fine. I was still mostly oblivious and had such a freeing walk down the length of the beach solo to get a refill. I strolled slowly, soaking in the sun and the looks, and feeling good about being me.

I carried that confidence when I bartered with the guy peddling dope (and anything else you wanted) along the beach. I stood proudly in my cage while he rolled me a five-dollar cannon, and negotiated borrowing his lighter for an hour. I think I will laugh to myself about that scene for years to come! By the way, it was a great joint, and someone just may find the other half buried in the sand. Turns out the weed there is indeed killer!

My confidence, however, was shaken on Friday. A couple of days before, an older couple from Wisconsin asked if they could join our table for lunch. I thought it was so great that they didn’t care about my cage. We talked for an hour. Shared our love of the outdoors, harvesting wood, ATVs, children, and life in general. I guess they only saw the cage after we parted ways. I nodded at them the next day across the beach bar, but assumed they hadn’t seen me based on their lack of response. On Friday, I did the same, but this time I waved. The lady met my eyes and gave me a tight smile, while the man stared angrily into the distance.

We took our drinks, returned to our beach loungers, and realized the week had been somewhat of an illusion. I had done lots of homework to avoid precisely this. I honestly expected to experience what others had described on Reddit. You know, a crowd where no one knows you and no one cares. The kind where you get some curious questions, perhaps strike up some conversations about the benefits, etc. We didn’t, though. Perhaps we had imposed our lifestyle (I think calling it a kink in this context belittles what we live) on a crowd that was present solely for their preferred combination of nudity and sex, and chastity was seen as an affront to that. Whatever the reason, something was out of sync between anticipation and reality. We experienced immature laughter on one occasion, and scorn on another. However, I know there are many theme weeks, so we can always aim for a different crowd.

That said, every other person there besides those mentioned, employee or guest, was respectful. I don’t know what that curious couple from Sandals next door thought, though. They strolled along the beach while I was going down on MrsBr_Saiph—ass in the air, caged dick hanging, and her legs over my shoulders. I can only hope she took him back to their room and ordered a cage on the spot! I can only hope that I inspired at least one couple to try chastity, because if you’re reading this, then you already know how great it is. If there were any caged guys there who were unsure about being their authentic selves, then maybe my confidence will inspire them for their next trip.

I only know that I lived out one of my dreams this past week and don’t regret a thing. I held my head high, I was proud, and I know that I was the luckiest man there. Why? Because I was living that dream with MrsBr_Saiph. She gave me the confidence to be me. She empowered me to submit to Her when all could see. She held my hand as she held my key, and through it all, we had the time of our lives.

It really is the most liberating experience to walk around naked for a week. You should try it. Just be aware that the people at Hedo are perhaps more tolerant than accepting. They are two very different things, but don’t let it slow your roll. We didn’t, and we plan to do it again.

Lastly, I would of course be remiss if I didn’t share the lead-up to that cagegasm I mentioned at the beginning. I’ve had those before, but never like this one. Close your eyes, my friend, and join me in the dark shadows where this story lies.

The blackout hood was thin cotton, but with the curtains closed and the hotel room lights off, the intended effect was achieved. I could only see muted shadows, and discerning much of anything was impossible. I sat in the middle of the bed, hands resting on my thighs, my heart beginning to beat with anticipation. MrsBr_Saiph adjusted the material so it fell loosely around my face before drawing in around my neck. The sewn-in, thin elastic hemline was only a gentle suggestion of tightness and could never be considered a risk.

She pushed lightly on my shoulders, and I felt myself falling backward into the sheets.

“Lie down, and turn onto your stomach.”

Her words were soft, but her intent was immutable. I had asked for some quiet time while she went for a massage, and this was her answer. Who was I to argue (and who in their right kinky mind would)? I rolled over, reflecting on how I’d pictured some corner time with a red ass, and how naive that had been. After all, we were on vacation, and that is when she tends to reach furthest into my mind and play the naughtiest of games.

I laid my arms along my sides, palms up, and waited for what she had only recently revealed was to come. I’d gotten the red ass part correct at least, and she’d added the butt plug for good measure. I would normally have made some smart-ass joke at this point just to mask my embarrassment at my pending helplessness, but she knows me too well. There would be no deflecting from the scene to which I was about to submit. The ball gag had been the first item to go on, right after I’d finished counting the smacks of her hand on my bum.

The bed shifted as she rose, then a drawer opened, and the sound of thin plastic tearing filled the quiet space. Something crumpled—thick paper, or perhaps cardboard—and then loudly clanged off the side of the waste bin as it found the bottom. The bed shifted once again as she settled beside me, and I knew what had been retrieved. The nylons whispered over my thighs and down my calves as her other hand urged my left ankle up and over onto the right.

She looped around one ankle, raising it to loop around the other. Snugging it up gently at first, she realized just how much give the wispy material allowed. She pulled tighter, adjusting the loops so the material glided over my flesh into an ever-tightening circle of her will. Once satisfied that, while comfortably bound, my ankles had nowhere to go, she looped around them again. And then again.

I felt a loop pass in between my ankles, and then she shifted again, her hand with the nylons teasing the back of my thigh, and then my ass, before coming to rest on the small of my back. Her other hand urged my ankles up, up, up so that my legs were bent at the knees as far as I could manage on my own. She gripped them for a moment in a silent command to hold and then released them. When a long beat had passed, and I maintained the pose she’d insisted upon, her fingers found the back of my forearms. Trailing a path of promise down to my wrists, she gave my fingers a light squeeze and then sat back.

“Cross them.”

She gave me a minute to stretch into the position my arms did not normally find themselves in, and then she began anew. The first two loops were again hesitant, and even when she tightened them up, they didn’t feel as unyielding as they had around my ankles. She snugged them again, and despite my penchant for submission, I have to admit to having a naughty thought.

Hmph, this won’t be so bad. Maybe I’ll be able to let myself out for a bit while she’s gone. Have a sip of beer, or hit the loo if need be. I can rebind before she gets back.

Then, ever so slowly, she threaded the nylons in a loop between my wrists. As I felt her fingers deftly working the material around itself, I felt my errant thoughts evaporate. She began to tug my wrists toward my ankles, and I knew then that all hope of doing anything but submit to the pose she was placing me in was lost.

She tugged further, and my back arched in lockstep to the incessant demand of the bindings that had morphed from a symbol of feminine beauty to feminine will.

“Relax.”

One word, so easily said, yet so hard to obey. But I did. My ankles and wrists took up the tension as I relaxed my body and the nylon stretched tight. As the arch lessened, the bindings were set, and she wrapped the remaining length loosely around my ankles. She ran her finger between each loop and my skin, ensuring that they were tight enough to hold me, but not so much as to cause any lasting harm. Satisfied, she trailed her fingers over the still-warm handprints on my ass and leaned in.

Warm and moist, she breathed her question into my ear, letting me know just how serious she was. “Comfy?”

“Mph!” I nodded, feeling my cheeks redden at how silly I must look, never mind sound, beneath the hood.

She giggled and slapped my ass, then rose.

“See you in an hour then.”

When the door clicked shut and the quiet settled around me, I felt a moment of panic, but remembered what she’d said on the way out. The scissors were beside me on the bed. If I truly wanted to wreck the wicked game she was playing, or honestly needed to escape, I could.

The almost-daily late-afternoon rain shower had started at just about the same time she’d pulled the makeup stool from under the dresser for laying me over her knee. The crisp crack of her hand on my bottom had easily drowned out everything beyond the immediate world of the maintenance spanking. Being a good sub means always thinking of her needs, and I was glad I had suggested she take the provided umbrella. As I lay there, bound and helpless, I listened to the rumbling of thunder and the rain beating against the window.

I smiled to myself, wondering what a passerby might think if they happened to look in the rear garden view window, as unlikely as that was. I doubted it was the wildest sight ever seen here—including me strolling around in my cage, and my thoughts moved on. How wonderful it was to have a woman I could share my true self with. The chastity, cuckolding, or entrusting her with afternoon bondage dalliances such as this. How must I look to her? Steel nub grinding into the bed sheets, glass plug defining that which she had vowed to ravage with the strap-on later, the nylons, gagged and bagged. But I knew, however I looked, I could trust her. For her, the enjoyment was my embarrassment. It was pushing me to the edge of both mental and physical comfort and letting me know she would hold me there and not let me fall. And she would do it all without judging me. Well, OK, she would judge me, but in all the ways I enjoyed!

Time passed excruciatingly slowly, and at other times quickly. At times I struggled against the bindings for brief moments, my body refusing to submit when my mind had so willingly done so. Yet most of the time I floated in submissive bliss, exactly where I loved to be, and where she’d placed me.

When the door finally opened, nothing was said. I listened to her shower, dry off, and then the loud wailing of the hairdryer. As silence again descended, she climbed onto the bed. Snip—my legs straightened gratefully out onto the bed, and my wrists came to rest on my ass. Snip—my ankles separated and I felt my shoulders and arms quiver in anticipation of the wrists being next. But it was not to be. Not yet.

She pushed on my hips, and I dutifully rolled onto my back, exposing the sheet where I’d been grinding for the past hour.

“Oh my, someone’s made a drippy mess.”

The hood came off, and then the gag. She rubbed her thumb at the corners of my mouth where the spittle couldn’t help but drip.

“Do you want to fuck me?” Her smirk at my predicament almost went unnoticed as the offer went right to my throbbing dick.

“Yes!” Surely, after two months, the cage was about to get tossed, and I’d get my just reward for being so ‘good’!

The smirk remained, though, as she climbed over me, her breasts briefly brushing over my hungry lips, reached into the side table, and sat back with the strap-on in her hands.

I didn’t panic, not quite, not just yet. After all, using our ‘friend’ to bring her the kind of pleasure my dick had never been able to do was nothing new. In fact, it had been an increasingly common occurrence over the last two months, and the afternoon was not yet over.

MrsBr_Saiph shimmied the harness up my legs, and as I lifted my ass and wiggled my hips, we got it into position. Neither I nor my synthetic replacement had been allowed to freely feel the inside of her for longer than I could remember, so with the condom rolled on, she mounted me. It felt great, and there’s no denying that my wrists bound behind and under me only added to the eroticism of the moment. I’ve become (out of necessity) very attuned to the micro-sensations of the dildo pushing back against the cage, and thus my dick. The SpareParts Joque harness is a masterpiece of engineering, and it allows me to feel like I am truly attached to the dildo with every thrust. I reap the rewards of fucking as best as I can, and every little sensation is magnified in my mind to be so much more than it is. Like I said… necessity.

Sated, she rolled off and lay beside me, but made no move to untie me. Her fingers wrapped around the shaft, now slick with her juices, and began to slowly move up and down. She looked up at me from under her eyelashes, a wicked grin on her face.

“Would you like a hand job?”

“What? Like this? The cage—”

“Stays on, of course.” Her hand began to move faster. “I never said anything about unlocking you.”

I raised my head to look down at her hand, then slammed it back into the sheets in frustration. To be completely honest, I was a little pouty. “Argh! Baby, it’s been two months!”

Her hand stopped. She looked stern. “Well? Do you want to call it a day then? Go for a drink?” She stroked upward and then down, the movement not at all lost on my dick desperately throbbing beneath the steel nub. “Hmm?”

“No…” I reluctantly grunted.

Her hand began stroking vigorously. “This is your cock now, baby, you just need to learn to appreciate it.”

I told myself she didn’t mean that. She couldn’t mean that. This was just vacation crazy-sex was all. I closed my eyes and tried to enjoy the feedback of every downstroke, because apparently this was as good as it was going to get! Her words washed over my ego and down into my dick as she stroked my new ‘cock’. She told me how much she was loving this, how she thought it was so hot that I could feel pleasure this way. I wanted to argue that I could feel a whole lot more pleasure if she’d just unlock me, but I knew that, as they say, ‘resistance was futile’.

The kink of the situation ignited every twisted, naughty, synaptic nerve in my big brain, giving it the power to override the little brain’s desire for freedom. My desire to cum this way quickly caught up to hers. My dick now throbbed not for release but for the ultimate denial as she strove to rewrite the sensory feedback she was so graciously allowing me. I opened my eyes and met hers—shining with mischief while her hand pumped faster. Her words continued their onslaught of all that was holy within the hallowed halls of the natural order of manly things.

“That’s it, baby, work your hips. Do you like that, hmm? Yeah, I know you do. Come on, baby.”

I couldn’t believe my ears, let alone my eyes, but I had to. A massive cock towered upward from where mine should be standing, though of course not to that scale. Yet, as I thrust upward, her slippery grip was making my dick associate what it was feeling with her hand, while her words and my eyes tied it all together. It was surreal. It was as she said ‘hot’ as hell, but I didn’t think I could get to the finish line. Not like this. It was too unnatural, even for a guy like me.

I muttered something to that effect, concentrating so hard on cumming that coherent talk wasn’t a strong point, but she didn’t miss a beat. Letting go, she rolled over and grabbed the Hitachi Magic Wand from her bedside table, and rolled back. Pressing it against the base of the dildo and over my balls, she turned it on.

Brrrrrrrrhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh….

In a matter of seconds, that deep, rumbly vibration spread across the steel dome as she pushed down on the dildo, and my balls hopped, skipped, and jumped to a fifty Hz beat. I felt the climax coming almost as soon as she started. I watched her hand stroke that which was supposed to be me, while the wand made me feel like it was. Any lingering doubt that this could actually happen vanished into an overwhelming wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

My balls surged, and I felt months of pent-up frustration roil up my compressed shaft clamoring for freedom. The little swimmers couldn’t get out fast enough, and they pushed and shoved each other out of the way as they fought for the light of day. Just as they thought they’d found freedom, they hit the unyielding steel and were then forced to fight once again to squeeze through every little breather hole they could. When they finally burst free, and the pressure relief became pure pleasure, I groaned. Loud and long. And then I groaned again.

Holy. Fuck.

When my orgasm subsided, and my dick was but a twitching mess within the steel embrace my loving wife had not countenanced to relieve me of, I opened my eyes. Hers were alight with fire, and I could tell she wasn’t done. Without a word, because they were of no use at this point, she mounted me once again.

She rode me hard, and the pleasure-pain I felt as the strap-on mashed my post-cum sensitive dick into me was one of absurd pride. I’d cum shamefully, bound and caged, but I’d cum in the way she had decided was best, and in doing so I’d done that which defines the very existence of a submissive man—I’d pleased my Queen. When she’d had her fill of our massive friend, she rolled off and finished with the wand, then snuggled into me, exhausted and content. Lying her head on my chest, she gripped the dildo, stroking it gently while she caught her breath. Light and slow, easy strokes that were more for the visual than any physical effect transfixed my eye.

The rain continued to beat softly against the window, while we lay sweaty and spent atop the bed. Our breathing slowed, and she tilted her head up toward mine. The fire in her eyes had subsided, but the hot embers remained.

Her words, softly spoken, struck fear in my heart even as they stoked the newfound kinky heat she’d lit between my legs.

“It’s called conditioning, Hun. I read all about it. It will get easier, you’ll see.”

The End

Thank you for reading. If you would like to read more of my work, links to my published stories can be found <here>

Author’s note: While there are some sexy parts to this post, it is a sincere reflection on the physical realities of hardcore long-term chastity.

The previous two years have witnessed a rapid escalation of my chastity when compared to the varying levels of intensity in dabbling with it over the previous twenty. My most recent post marked a spectacular end to a 2025 that left me fairly certain of how my 2026 was going to go—locked 24/7/365, cucked (of course), and full-on pussy-free.
The chastity fantasy has evolved in my mind over the past 23+ years, as has its relationship with, and its function within, my marriage to @MrsBR_Saiph. The initial introduction of it, unbeknownst to me at the time, almost caused irrecoverable harm. The obscenity of it, and the fear of what it might possibly mean beyond anything I could have said in explanation at the time, was beyond measure for her. That, my friends, is a story only she can tell, if and when she is ever ready. Suffice to say, I came in like a freight train, turning her entire perception of me upside down, and nearly derailed our relationship in the process.
It progressed over the years, albeit slowly. I convinced her to join a chastity forum, and she learned her man wasn’t the only one who wanted his dick locked up. More importantly, she learned she wasn’t the only woman with a man like me. She wasn’t alone. We weren’t alone.
All that said, this isn’t a post about the past, merely a lead-up to the present. As such, I won’t go on (much) about how we got to where we are today. Suffice to say, I always wanted ‘more’ of anything denial. Isn’t that the case with something that turns a man’s crank? A day locked here, to a month there, to… Naturally, simply being caged became no longer enough.
We evolved as our lifestyle did. As we grew into being a cuckold couple, so did her desire to see me locked, as did my desire to remain so. It became a mutually gratifying existence to be locked as well as denied. The releases (of any sort) became fewer, as did the PIV. I could say something spicy about the bulls fucking her ‘need’ for my cock right out of her, and it is (mostly) true. But the extreme denial with the omnipresent option of being cuckolded was hot as hell for us both, so it became the norm.
So there I was at the end of 2025. Despite three weeks of freedom, I had failed to fully regain my ‘bedroom standing’ prior to the near-constant lockdown shenanigans of late. As I wrote my last post, I thought I knew where I was with that. I thought I was all in for the path we’d found ourselves on. After all, I was living the extreme fantasy I’d built in my mind. I was living the dream. Every captioned picture on the internet that made me throb in my cage reinforced that I had made it to where I was meant to be. I could always change my mind and go back to something less intense, right?
Yet, even as I doubled down and faced 2026 head-on, I couldn’t shake a nagging doubt. Being unlocked had always unleashed the beast—tall, proud, and raging fucking hard for anything it could get. It had never let me down, but now, despite a valiant three-week effort, despite almost being what it always had been, it no longer was.
That made me seriously read up on what was happening to my body. I should have done this two years ago, before things hardcore ramped up. I realized what I’d read on the forums about the cage effects being temporary was not necessarily correct. If I stayed the course, my denial fantasy would become a permanent reality. The sole purpose of the cage would be nothing more than a shiny reminder to be careful of the denial you wish for.
I had locked my dick up around the clock, in progressively smaller cages, and gave it no opportunity to stretch. You can read up on nocturnal penile tumescence (NPT) and all the other fancy jargon, but let’s just say that if you fuck ‘it’ up long enough, and you’re no longer a young man, the path to permanence is a real thing.
Locked in for a pivotal year ahead, we found ourselves at Temptation Resort just a couple of weeks later. We had sexy vibes, great times, and I received a vacay cagegasm that rocked my world. I enjoyed it immensely, of course! However, the knowledge I’d recently gained was banging around in the back of my mind. Nagging at me, robbing me of the complete satisfaction I should have felt in being allowed to cum at all.
The sand had begun to shift.
@MrsBR_Saiph pulled out all the stops the following evening wearing a satin corset, a short miniskirt that could only be worn on a holiday such as this, and heels that made me want to drop and press my lips to her toes. She was a vision in white, and the key dangling between her breasts, silently taunting me as we swayed to the music, doing its best to cajole my worries away.
When we returned to the room, ‘as a special treat’—her words—the white satin bikini panties went on, where there had been nothing prior. Everything else remained the same because she knows me. I had watched her all night, and now my patience was to be rewarded. I would be allowed to touch, to savor the feel of all of her and all that had moved with her. Every breath she’d taken had pushed her breasts outward, toward my hungry eyes, forced to watch the satin cups of the corset glide over hardened nipples denied my tongue. The boning, hidden beneath the satin, restrained her, controlled her, and demanded an act of submission from her with every breath. And she did. She submitted—where (she says) she would never submit to any man, and most certainly would never dream of submitting to me, her subby-hubby.
My hands roamed as my tongue told her how incredible I thought she was, and as I felt the boning of the corset bending her to its will, where men (like me at least) never could, I throbbed in my cage. I grabbed her and made as if to throw her onto the bed, and she let out a little surprised squeal in return. The carnal fun had begun!
“I’m going to fuck you, woman!” I proclaimed, in pure theater as we fell into bed together, the key bouncing between her breasts keeping me grounded in my place.
As I hiked her skirt up around her waist, ready to plunge my face between her legs, she raised her hands to my chest and stopped me. She grew slightly serious, but the playful light never left her eyes.
“Do you want to?”
I knew what she was asking, and didn’t hesitate, because.. the sand had shifted. “Yes!”
Her eyebrow arched because my lady does indeed know her man. “But then you won’t be pussy-free this year…”
“Fuck all that!”
I could only stare as the key left her neck and found its way to the lock, and then set my already surging cock free.
I mashed it into her pussy lips, the satin barrier teasing the sensitive head with a feminine promise of seduction whilst denying me entry to the promised land beyond. I flipped her over and ran my cock over her ass, the satin slip ‘n sliding over her cheeks as the glossy material kissed my balls.
I pressed into the crack of her ass, feeling the slippery smoothness all around me, stretched tight beneath, and in loose waves to the sides. I rammed my cock as hard as I could against her, up and down that crack, savoring every inch of the sensuousness that was her, covered in satin. I pulled back and watched myself move between her legs, ramming my head into the silken barrier that stood between me and nirvana. I had always l loved this bit of play. The contrast between her satin femininity and the roughness of my manly cock pounding at the gate and demanding gratification. It was always a sensation overload, both visual and tactile, and tonight was no different.
But I was different. Regardless of how minute thus far, there had been a definitive alteration in my structural elasticity. And so as we fucked, the lovemaking would come after, for this was too urgent, too primal to call it anything else, the nagging doubts solidified. It felt amazing, don’t get me wrong, but with every thrust, I knew I could do better. I had been better. And as I came, as I growled aloud, the voice in my head shouted louder.
Enough! I will be my best once again!
It was an awesome night, and my orgasm was far from the end of it, but the winds of change had howled so loud they could not be ignored.
The following day, we lounged at the sexy pool, with @MrsBR_Saiph sitting on the edge, legs spread, ankles dangling in the water, and me in between. I was standing in the water, looking up at her, when a natural pause in our conversation signaled the time to share my concerns.
“I think the cage is fucking things up ‘down there’, and I’m worried if we keep going, as we have, that eventually I won’t even need a cage.” I paused to draw breath, as yet unsure of even where I wanted this to go, and thus couldn’t fully voice what I had to. “Do you get what I’m saying?”
Of course, she got it, because it took two to tango whenever that cage had come off. She looked thoughtful for a long minute. Not a moment. A minute. I sipped nervously on my beer, and she sat with a thousand-yard stare. Finally, she looked down at me. Serious.
“I don’t want to give up your chastity.”
It took me a moment to process the words I had not expected to hear. “But, I don’t think you’re getting what I’m saying—“
“I get it just fine. I’m saying that your chastity has given us this”—she gestured to the sexualised chaos around us—“amazing, crazy life we live.” It wasn’t the resort she was referring to, I knew that, and she confirmed it. “The lifestyle, the… cuckolding, I don’t want to give that up.”
The pool music and the antics around us faded away until all that remained was her, and her words. I must have looked shocked at hearing the love of my wife literally saying something that I could have written in a story, but wasn’t at all what I had been expecting. I had expected her to say, as she had in years past, that of course we could stop, that she didn’t need any of this, that she only needed me. She frowned as she weighed her words, brushed her hand over my cheek as if to ease those words, then continued.
“You’re different when you’re in chastity. You’re submissive, and I never used to know just what that meant, for us. I do now. You’re kinder, gentler, thoughtful… everything you’re not when you’re free. You used to be selfish, and I don’t want that man. I want the man you are now—locked.”
She paused to take a sip of her drink, but looked just as serious when she put her cup down. “And I don’t want to give up the cuckolding. The cage gives me both.”
Not gonna lie, it was a lot. I don’t think I can remember the last time, if ever, I’ve truly been speechless. But as I absorbed her honest truth, that truth felt… right. It was profoundly terrifying, but she was right. We had evolved and could not go back, because the past was not the present and could not be our future. My male ego would have to overcome this one last hurdle for me to be the best chaste cuck I could be, for the woman who was my everything. But that man hanging on to that ‘ol male ego had to make sure, because let’s be honest, what man couldn’t?
“You know what we’re committing to, right?”
She nodded, then left no doubt. Her voice was quiet, yet firm with conviction. “I want you locked.”
It was a heady feeling. As I said, it was terrifying, but it was also freeing. We were both now fully aware of what our commitment to chastity was going to mean for me… for us. Nothing is free, and I’ll be damned if she didn’t just make it clear she was OK with the cost. I told myself I was too. If I wanted to be all those things she had grown to love about me, how could I not? The rest of the week flew by for me in a mind-fuck induced fog of renewed devotion to her.
Spoiler alert, the crafty man in me wasn’t done with this yet. That ‘ol male ego in me, the one who loves a rock-solid erection and forcefully spurting unfettered hot ropes of cum while enjoying one, was not done. So, I researched a bit more and found a potential solution.
A week after we returned, I put forth my idea, but I wasn’t sure if it would fly. She had, after all, been adamant about keeping me locked and paying the piper for the future time spent. I decided ahead of time I would accept her answer no matter what, because I had long ago chosen to follow her lead. Besides, I’m all about seeking ‘more’. Submitting to her monumental decision regarding my body, to dictate my dick follow a path of irrevocable adjustment to a life in a cage is as about as submissive as it gets. You can ask my big brain or the little one, and they’ll both agree, I assure you.
She isn’t cruel by nature, though she enjoys a hint of it with me when the mood strikes her. This wasn’t that. It wasn’t smack talk or playful teasing. She’d simply weighed the consequences against what our life together needs, eyes wide open. Now it was my turn to submit fully, in a way I never could have imagined. This wasn’t porn. This was my body, no longer mine, and our life together about to be lived in the most intimately one-sided controlling way imaginable.
I love our life and cherish all that her willingness to explore the unknown has brought us. I did not want to mess with our recipe for success. If that defined the word permanent in a way I never could have imagined 23 years ago when I showed her my first cage, then so be it. In for a pound…
Turns out she was perfectly OK with allowing me to unlock at night. She’d been thinking about her decision too, post-vacation. Not undermining herself, just reflecting on the seriousness of it, and how far we’d come. So when I presented an alternative solution, she was already primed for the discussion. For her, making my denial permanent wasn’t about kink; it was about balance in the quality of our life. If you have read my other posts, you know I have long accepted I can’t please her like those bulls can. I had long stopped thinking of my dick as something that could give her pleasure. We’d long achieved mind-blowing sexual intimacy without my penis (she calls it that to remind me it’s not a ‘cock’), so it wasn’t like not being able to use it would change anything. We were only committing to never using it again. In her mind, it was more nuance than difference. Yet, the alternative I presented would still achieve what we both craved, without the extraordinary cost. She’d only been making a logical decision, and this was but one more.
I got excited, I must admit, about what this might mean, but she set me straight before I barely formed the thought. It wouldn’t be every night, because too much of a good thing might lead to errant thoughts of independence! She did say, once she’d thought about it, that she’d missed (a little bit) our free-play time. She missed bringing me to the edge, holding me there in a quivering mess, and sometimes letting me go right over it. We had simply lost our way in pursuit of that which we had found mutually exciting and fulfilling. Now we could have it all with no illusion that the scale would always tip toward the cage. I was a cuckold, and I’d remain so. I was a locked submissive, and would remain so. I just didn’t need to sleep like one all the time.
It’s been a month, and I’ve had plenty of those nocturnal stretches. I am so much better now, able to be the man I want to be in body and in mind, for her—because of her. In my moment of most terrifying fear of the future, she had shown me once again that she was there for me. I was ready to freely fall, and she was there to catch me, and together in the lifestyle and in life, we remain a rock-solid force of love and commitment. In her love I trust, and all else in life will be as it will. Of that, I am sure.
I am a lucky man. I’m a man who has learned to truly be careful what you wish for. And one who now gets to say he is not locked 24/7, and is not pussy-free (though I’m assured I will still be able to count the times a year with one hand). I once strove to be a member of the hardcore permanently-locked club. I tip my hat to it, and freely give respect where due, but being in that club is no longer a goal for me. I don’t blog-post to garner sales, my books are for that, and I don’t do it to sensationalize my life. I do it to share my life, through the lens I live it, to give back to the wonderful lifestyle community that helped me navigate and learn to be who I am today. So while I know my new direction may be disappointing to some who may have followed my progression, that is OK. I can only meet my own expectations, and those of my Queen.
I am living my best life because the woman I love stands beside me, even as I kneel before her. And that, my friends, is fucking eh.

The End.

Thank you for reading. If you would like to read more of my work, links to my published stories can be found <here>